Fic Amnesty: Marked
by Mostly Harmless III
Summary: The world is safe, but Squall is still marked. Zell/Squall. Slash, fluff, adult situations, not beta-read. This is an oldie I am uploading again to give it some air. It was starting to smell on my hard drive. Ahem.


Title: Marked  
>Author: Ren Makoto (Mostly Harmless III)<br>Pairing: Squall/Zell  
>Rating: PG<br>Warnings: Spoilers for FF8. Fluff! Slash! Fluffy slash! Not beta-read.  
>Summary: The world is safe, but Squall is marked.<br>Author's Note: This is an oldie and a bit purple. I am uploading old, unfinished, and bad fics as part of a fic amnesty thing. This one was pulled for being bad YEARS ago. And now, meh. I am what I am and I came from bad fic and to bad fic I shall return.

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><p>Marked<p>

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><p>A settled world, a return to peace. And now that the proverbial dust had settled and no crises loomed to occupy his thoughts, Squall Leonhart woke to find himself distracted by what he had ignored for months.<p>

Perhaps it was the sunlight through his bathroom window that morning that made him take notice; how, like through a prism, the sunbeams split and shattered into rainbows, painting the walls in crystalline colors. And how that same spectrum settled onto his skin, his face, dancing across his features as the sun was caught and cast into the room. Whatever the cause, his simple routine was interrupted when the prismatic light led his eyes to the mirror where the light was intensified and stoked in the reflection. The display dazzled him for a moment, how the reflection of his room and the lights merged to create a spectacle of silent fireworks and pouring gems of light.

His gray eyes following the rainbows, transfixed, until clouds rushed outside to blanket the sun. The room darkened slightly without the warming sunlight and the mirror lost the magical colors and merely returned to showing the truth, reality.

What was left in the mirror, his own reflection, would not have captured him as it did, were not for an addition that drew his hands upwards to test and question.

His fingers were pale probes, glancing over the skin of his forehead and settling on the cruel, dark line, angling forever between his eyes. He watched and felt his own brows draw downward in a frown, studying the flaw that looked as if an artist had dipped a brush in red and quickly swept it across his face. Foreign. Strange.

Yet, as much as it didn't belong there, a gashed reminder of rivalry and pain, he was intrigued by it, this scar. His scar.

The roughened skin was as much a part of him as memories he couldn't recall, smiles that faded and the calluses on his hands still formed through the worn fabric of his gloves. Silently, he even welcomed the scar, for this, at least, he could not forget.

Everything else would come and go, but here was proof, here was tangible memory. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the contained explosion of fire, the cruel curve of lips behind it and then the weightless steel flashing, ripping the air, his skin...

When he opened his eyes again, the scene still played out before him, projected onto the mirror by his mind.

No, he wouldn't forget.

"Does it still hurt?"

Squall lowered his hand from his face and turned toward the voice. Zell stood with his arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. From his position inside the door, he watched Squall standing shirtless at the mirror, his body leaning slightly to better examine the gash that marred his features. Squall wondered at how the shorter man carried himself as if he were fully equipped with adamantine gloves and combat gear, not wearing the loose-fitting cotton tee and pajama bottoms he had slept in. It was as if Zell's good-natured cockiness and energy kept him ready to fight even at seven in the morning when he was sleepy-eyed and his hair tousled, falling into his face and partially obscuring his tattoo.

"No," Squall answered as Zell moved into the room, his bare feet soundless on the tile. He stopped behind Squall, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his cheek against Squall's back.

"Good," Zell whispered, his breath tickling the bare skin.

Squall turned away from the mirror, his weight supported by the sink and looked down at the martial artist in his arms. He blinked twice, flinching as a finger made its way down his forehead, tracing the scar. Zell was frowning as he touched the rough line, perhaps in dislike of the imperfection or perhaps in dislike of the man responsible for it. Squall waited through the exercise, studying the shifting expressions on Zell's face, how it showed so clearly what he thought and felt.

"It's funny," the blonde commented, almost to himself as his other hand lifted to his left cheek, his fingers gliding over the ink-black tattoo as if he had every point, every sweeping line memorized. He touched Squall's scar once more, briefly, before he spoke again, "We're both marked."

Zell lowered his hands onto Squall's shoulders, his eyes lingering on the scar for a moment longer before they shifted to look into storm-gray eyes.

The kiss was brief, Squall tasting of toothpaste and Zell tasting of sleep and dreams and simply Zell.

"What does it mean," Squall asked when the kiss ended, "your mark?"

Zell unconsciously touched the tattoo again, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards in a smile. "It helps me remember."

And though he hadn't explained more than that, hadn't said very much, his tone- so matter-of-fact, so earnest-was enough for Squall. "What about yours," Zell asked, frowning at the thought of it, "What does yours mean?"

He was staring at it again, his blue eyes narrowed as if he saw it as the piece that didn't fit, the part of Squall he would remove if only he could.

What did it mean? Squall breathed deeply and could see it just behind his eyes. Steel and lightning. Splattered blood on a dusty ground. And anger- true, violent anger at the sight of crimson on his gloves, at the twisted smile loving it all. The memory had endured, as vivid and clear as the scar that marked it.

"It means I won't forget everything," he whispered before suddenly pulling Zell close in a firm hug.

Outside, the clouds eased away from the sun, releasing it in its full vibrancy. The change was dramatic, the room filling with light and warmth and color again; only now the mirror was behind Squall and he couldn't see the fantastical dream world of fireworks and rainbows reflected there.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the two of them in the mirror, bathed in the fairy-lights, part of the illusion; their arms locked around each other as if they were dancing, Zell's eyes closed and his face burrowed against his arm. In the mirror, they were in a perfect world where memories stayed fresh, where smiles remained and no marks or scars were needed.

He turned away from it, looked down.

All he could see was Zell.

And it was enough, for if he could remember the violence of that day, simply by seeing the scar, perhaps he could imprint Zell onto his skin, infuse him into his body. If he stared long enough...

Zell's eyes stayed closed, his arms tight around Squall, clinging to the only thing he truly wanted to remember while Squall gazed at him unblinking, trying to memorize his features, the feel of him, desperate for another mark. Desperate not to forget...

Behind them, a couple danced slowly amidst light and sunshine and warmth, unafraid of lost memories, unblemished, unmarked.

End


End file.
